


i'm going numb, i've been hijacked

by starciti



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starciti/pseuds/starciti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She never said,” He repeats. “That my death would be easy.”</p><p>in which grima is slain by robin's hand, and robin doesn't fade immediately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. it's better to burn than fade away

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sad  
> i never even considered the concept that robin didn't have to disappear immediately?? and then i saw the idea and DIED  
> this is mainly based off of a post that i'll put at the bottom of this so go look at that it's probably more well written than this

He remembers touching nothingness — stretching his hands out into the darkness before him, and feeling the sea of black overtake his fingers, but not seeing it. He remembers the darkness seeping into his fingers, spreading to his very heart and soul, enveloping his mind and body — and he remembers feeling so suffocated and trapped and _empty_ that he couldn’t even scream.

So it’s not surprising, really, that the first thing that Robin loses feeling in is his hands.

They’ve been tingling since the moment he was wrenched ungracefully from the nothingness that followed Grima’s death — and at first, he thought they were merely shaking, from the pent-up nerves that had just begun to unravel, just begun to fade entirely. A lot of things happened after he slayed the fell dragon, after all —mainly stemming from the fact that he was _still alive,_ even though Naga had told him that the opposite would happen. And he really didn’t understand it, at first, didn’t understand how a _divine dragon_ would get her facts mixed up — but the next thing he knows, Chrom’s holding him so tightly that he thinks that he might be afraid that he’ll fade, if he lets go. So maybe Robin doesn’t understand _why,_ but he understands that he’s _still here,_ and as his army and his family and his friends come to him and yell and cry a little about how glad they are that he’s _still here,_ he thinks that maybe confusion and tingly hands are the least of his worries.

But the adrenaline from his final battle against himself had to fade eventually — and when it did, he found with a twinge of worry that the feeling had yet to go away. And it never really did go away, just got worse and worse, until he was finding himself slamming his hands against the side of the bed every morning just to return feeling into them, and that was when he started to think, okay, something has to be _wrong._

And that was when it started spreading.

His arms are the next to go, since there’s really only one place to spread to, from his hands — and he tries to cover up any worries he may have about the concept of it all with a few stretches every morning, in the hopes that maybe it’s just the aftermath of months and months of _war._

But eventually, tingling turns into numbness, numbness turns into _paralysis,_ and Robin can no longer keep his dilemma a secret, once he’s no longer able to move his arms.

Chrom worries over him a lot more than he should, or at least a lot more than Robin is comfortable with — and he greets every exasperated phrase that Chrom speaks with a small grin, and the reassurance that he’s _fine, this will go away soon, Chrom, and by the gods, you should stop worrying so much._

But he doesn’t stop worrying, doesn’t do what he was told, and as the numbness starts to spread a little more, Robin can’t really find the heart to blame him. Robin can’t really find the heart to do _anything,_ lately, aside from trying to smother the flame of anxiety that won’t stop licking at his insides. In truth, he’s actually a little glad, that Chrom and his worries exist, since it makes it seem like he’s handling his own situation a little bit better.

That is, until Chrom starts to ask him questions.

“Really, Robin, you have _no idea,_ ” Chrom says, not for the first time, his question phrased more like a statement than the question it’s meant to be. “Why you’re suddenly losing feeling in literally every part of your body.”

Robin would probably shrug instead of responding, but that’s a little hard, considering he can’t move his arms. So he settles for speaking, and tries to sound as composed as he can be, as he grins and gives his normal response; “Not in the slightest.”

Chrom gives him a look that’s a mix between exasperation and annoyance, and Robin really wishes he had the heart to laugh at it.

“You know, it just seems like the kind of thing you’d know about.” Chrom says, making Robin really wish he’d drop it. “Doesn’t it seem like the kind of thing a cleric would ask? Like, ‘alright, Robin, do you have any past experiences with bodily numbness and paralysis? Maybe in your immediate family?’”

Robin can’t help but snort, and Chrom chuckles at his own joke, and Robin silently thanks the gods that Chrom is more than a bundle of nerves, in regards to what’s going on. Robin thinks he might have gone a little insane, if he had to keep trying to smother his worries while trying to deal with his own.

“As helpful as that would be,” Robin chimes in, shaking his head. “I can’t say that I’ve ever been asked that sort of thing. Nor have I ever thought about it.”

Chrom lets out a discontented hum, and the conversation falls silent, for a moment. And as Robin is left with his own thoughts, he can imagine that Chrom is the same way — his eyebrows are knitted, slightly, and his lips have the small pout they always do when he’s thinking. So he waits a few moments, prepared to ask him what he’s thinking about, but Chrom beats him to it, with a question of his own.

“Robin,” He begins, his voice careful, as if he’s trying to keep some emotion that Robin can’t identify out of it. “Is it just me, or are you… um. _Lighter?”_

The adjective choice is nothing if not confusing, and Robin finds his own eyebrows furrowing in response.

“Do you mean _paler,_ perhaps?” Robin responds, looking down at his arms with a curious look. He can’t help but think that maybe he is a little paler than normal — his skin has always been rather tanned, thanks to the Plegian sun, but his arms seem to be lighter than normal.

“No,” Chrom shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “You just look… gods, I can’t describe it properly. I don’t know. _Faded,_ maybe?”

_Faded._

The realization hits Robin all at once.

_Grima’s heart and Robin’s heart are inexorably linked. Dragon and man can no longer be separated. Therefore, slaying Grima would also cause the end of Robin’s life._

No.

_No, oh, by the gods, please, no…_

“Robin?” Chrom asks, and Robin realizes that he had spoken aloud. Chrom leans forward, taking Robin’s numb hands into his own, and looks him in the eyes. “Robin, what’s wrong?”

“There is a chance you could survive,” Robin says, his voice choked and fearful, and the words he speaks are not his own. “But it is small indeed. You have bound your heart to those of many others in this world.”

Chrom recognizes his words all at once, and Robin can see him go deathly pale. “Robin…?”

“If those ties prove strong enough,” Robin continues, unable to break away from Chrom’s gaze. “They may yet keep you in this reality. But I would not give you false hope. The chance you would live is insignificant. In truth, you will almost certainly cease to exist.”

Chrom grips tightly at his hands, but they’re already so numb that Robin can barely feel it.

“No,” Is Chrom’s first response, his eyes wide and his tone disbelieving. “No, Robin, that — that has _nothing_ to do with this! Grima has been gone for nearly a fortnight. Surely…” His voice trails off, and he swallows thickly, before continuing in a low voice. “Surely, if you were going to disappear, it would have happened by now.”

Robin can remember thinking the same thing, for the longest time. But as he thinks back on Naga’s words, he can finally realize that he was _wrong, oh, gods, he was wrong._

Naga had never promised that his death would be swift.

“She never said,” Robin begins, and his voice is so quiet that he can barely hear it. “That I would die immediately.”

Chrom’s disbelief has rendered him incapable of talking, so only silence follows Robin’s words, as he feels his panic start to overtake him. He’s trembling, now, and he leans his head forward, so his hair hangs in front of his eyes, so he can look at his pale, small, _fading_ hands, as they tremble in Chrom’s grip.

“She never said,” He repeats. “That my death would be _easy.”_

Chrom swears under his breath, and Robin can feel the tears start to fall — or, rather, he can see them fall upon their hands. He can’t really feel them, much, since his cheeks are starting to tingle, now, and he’s filled with such a foreign type of fear that he can’t even describe it. But he takes in a shaky breath, anyways, and attempts to speak, but what leaves his lips is not what he intended.

“I’m dying,” Is what he says, his voice shaky and breathless. “By the gods, Chrom, I’m — I’m _dying.”_

It takes no more than a split second for Chrom to abandon his hold on Robin’s hands and wrap his arms around him, instead — pulling him close to his chest and resting a hand on the back of his head, as Robin leans his forehead against his neck.

“Stop that,” Chrom demands, in all futility, since his voice sounds no better than Robin’s. “Robin, don’t — don’t talk like that. You’re going to be _fine._ I’m not going to let you die.”

Robin’s response is a sharp inhale, and he really wishes that he could _stop crying,_ but he’s crying out all his worries and fears that he’s been keeping in since he slayed the fell dragon, and he doesn’t think he’ll stop anytime soon.

“This isn’t something you can _stop.”_ Robin says, helplessly, and shakes his head. “There’s nothing that can be done.”

“You don’t know that.” Chrom insists, his voice gentle, of all things. Robin can feel him press a kiss to the top of his head, and when he speaks again, Robin knows that he’s the one being reassured, now. “I just got you back — I’m not letting you go that quickly. Robin, _I love you,_ and I’m not going to let you die. All right?”

Robin really doesn’t want to agree, doesn’t want to let himself _hope_ for something that will never come — but Chrom’s tone is comforting, his embrace is warm, and Robin can only find himself whispering back; “Okay.”

And they’ll stay like that for a long while, with Robin crying out his fears and Chrom trying to ease them away — long enough that they only stop when the sun starts to sink below the horizon, and they exchange it for a comfortable sleep in the other’s arms.

And Robin will keep his beliefs that he’ll be okay until he wakes up the next morning, and when Chrom tells him that they should get up, he realizes that he can no longer feel his legs, so his only response is a hopeless; “I can’t.”

* * *

From what Robin can gather, he’s been placed into the medical wing — what with healers bustling about and the lack of the familiar scent of the bed he shares with Chrom, he knows he no longer resides in their chambers. But it doesn’t make much of a difference to him, since he can’t keep his eyes open half the time, anyways, so he swallows back his complaints (figuratively — he’s losing feeling in his throat, too) and lets himself sleep.

He thinks he’s sleeping, anyways. He’s really not quite sure.

It’s a state of borderline unconsciousness, which is what he would deduce if he could actually _think_ properly — in which he’s not asleep, but he can’t move, can’t open his eyes, can’t do much of anything. One where it’s hard to tell if you’re asleep or not, and for someone who’s fading from all planes of existence, it’s not a desirable state to be in.

But amidst the darkness, and the numbness, and the pointless wondering of if he’s dead or not, Robin can recognize a hand clutching his own.

He knows exactly whose hand it is, that doesn’t seem to let go of his own, for he’s felt the same fingers intertwined with his so many times, in the past; and his entire body could go entirely numb, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget the feeling of his hand in his own. His hand is larger than his own, it’s warmer, and he can’t particularly remember a time where the feeling of those fingers in the spaces between his own failed to give him at least a twinge of comfort. Even now, in a time where he’s not sure who he is, not sure what’s going on, not sure if he’s even still _alive_ — the moment he’s able to catalog Chrom’s hand in his own, he can feel his nerves fade just a little.

But as they fade, so does he, and he finds himself wishing that he could worry a little more. Maybe then, he’d feel like he was still existent, still alive, still _okay_ — not like he was fading from this plane of existence entirely. But wishful thinking never got him far, so he doesn’t voice these wishes aloud.

But to be fair, it’s not like he could even if he wanted to.

Along with feeling, Robin can do a little bit of hearing — bits and pieces of conversations are all he ever hears, and they’re never enough to give him a full grasp of the conversation that’s going on. They’re little remarks from the healers, bits of voices that sound like his friends — but they’re never much.

They’re never much, unless it’s Chrom that speaks.

Robin can hear everything, when Chrom speaks.

“He’s going to wake up,” Chrom says. He must be speaking to someone else, since he’s speaking about Robin — or so Robin chooses to believe. “We just… we have to be patient. We have to give it more time.”

Robin hears no response, or at least cannot register one — and he wonders if Chrom is speaking to anyone at all. The thought of Chrom speaking to himself isn’t a foreign one, he admits. And his suspicions are confirmed, when he feels Chrom bring his hand up and place his shaky lips upon the back of it, before murmuring against his skin;

“Please, Robin… please wake up.”

There is pain in Chrom’s voice, clear as day among the shakiness of it — and even though Robin can’t feel much, he can feel his heart constrict in his chest, squeezed tight by heavy coils of guilt. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, but now, he wants nothing more than to wake up, to ease the pain in Chrom’s voice — but his muscles are frozen in place, his voice won’t work, and he knows that his time is limited.

Vaguely, he wonders if Chrom knows it, too.

Just the thought of it is enough to prompt the guilt into overtaking him, and he can’t help but wince — an action so small that his numb body can somehow manage it, but somehow large enough for Chrom to notice. Robin can feel Chrom’s grip on his hand tighten, and he feels his other hand come to rest upon his cheek.

“Robin?” Chrom breathes, a small bit of hope edging at his voice, easing some of the pain that had previously filled it. But there is a small pause, as Chrom steadies himself, and his voice is steadier when he speaks next. “Robin, if you can hear me… hold on. Please, just — just _hold on._ I’m not… I’m not letting you die, ever.”

There’s so much hope in Chrom’s voice now that Robin can hardly remember what it sounded like when it was filled with pain. The thought is enough to prompt his lips into twitching upwards, in the softest hint of a smile. His other muscles follow suit, and before he knows it, his eyes have opened, and the first thing they see is blue.

“That,” Robin says, his voice hoarse and quiet, as he realizes just how hard talking is. “Is a large request, you know.”

Chrom looks so relieved that he might cry, and Robin wonders just how long he’s been asleep, if Chrom is this happy that he’s awake. Chrom squeezes his hand lightly — or tightly, he can’t really tell — and lets out a chuckle, though it’s choked and forced.

“Believe me, I know,” Chrom says. “But I think you can manage it. Come on, Robin, you won me two wars — surely you can manage to stay awake for a little while.”

The task seems trivial, and he knows it — but Robin thinks they both know that it’s harder than it seems. The simple act of keeping his eyes open is exhausting, and Robin isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to be able to keep this up.

But Chrom’s still holding his hand, still smiling at him, still _hoping_ — and Robin decides that he’s going to keep this up for as long as he can. Whether he stays awake for five hours or five minutes, he doesn’t care — the longer he can still speak to the man he loves, the better.

He owes Chrom that much, he thinks.

“I don’t know,” Robin begins, giving Chrom’s hand a squeeze of his own. “It seems… challenging.”

His voice cracks near the end, as a result of his dry mouth and scratchy throat. Chrom fumbles for a moment before pressing a cup of water to his lips, and he drinks from it, wondering in the back of his mind if this will be the last time he gets to do so. He lets out a sigh of relief once the cup has been pulled away, and there is only silence that follows.

He’s not sure how to fill the silence, and it seems as if Chrom doesn’t either — but it’s comforting, in a way, so he lets it linger for a little while longer. He suddenly remembers the hand that Chrom still has resting on his cheek, so with a great deal of effort, he lifts his own hand to peel it off, just enough so that he can turn his head and press a kiss to his palm. His skin is warm and comforting, and he can hear Chrom let out a snort as he presses his forehead against it. Affection was always a foreign concept to him, obviously not something he remembered much of — but around Chrom, it was natural. It was comforting. It was welcomed.

It was something he was never going to feel again, after today.

Robin lets go of Chrom’s hand.

“Chrom, you know I’m dying, don’t you?” Robin’s voice is tight, as he tries to shield his emotions.

Chrom visibly flinches.

“Stop that,” Chrom says, his voice as fragile as glass, like it might break if he’s put under any more pressure. “That’s not true.”

“I’m _dying,_ Chrom,” Robin says, a little more forceful this time. “I’m fading, just as Naga said I would.”

“Stop _saying_ that!” Chrom’s words are paired with a tight squeeze to his hand, and an increase in volume. “Robin, you’re going to be fine!”

“ _Chrom,_ ” Robin chides, and Chrom stops.

Chrom’s face is tight with pain, with _desperation_ — and the coils of guilt return at the sight of it. Robin almost wishes that his sight was fading, too, so that, as selfish as the thought is, he wouldn’t have to see the pain on his lover’s face.

He wonders, if he had known a fortnight ago how much pain his decision would have caused, if he would have made the same one.

He doesn’t admit it, but he knows the answer is yes.

Chrom says something, finally. “Robin… gods, Robin, I’m — I’m sorry.”

The words are a blade to his heart, and he wishes he didn’t have to hear them.

“What for?” He asks anyways, even though he doesn’t want the answer. Even though he knows Chrom doesn’t want to say it.

Chrom winces before responding. “For… for not being able to help you. For letting you suffer through all this pain. Gods, Robin, if I had only been able to stop you—”

“Chrom,” Robin interrupts, with a sigh that holds the troubles of the world leaving his lips. “You know better than I, that you wouldn’t have been able to stop me. Can you truly think back on what happened, and say that, if you had known of what I intended to do, you would have stopped me?”

Chrom looks like he wants to say yes, but the moment his mouth opens to form the word, it shuts again. He lowers his head after a brief pause, knowing he’s been defeated. Robin has won this argument, as he usually does — but he doesn’t feel victorious.

He gives Chrom hand a gentle squeeze. “But if we’re giving apologies… then I give you mine.”

Chrom slowly lifts his head, and from behind his bangs, Robin can see confusion in those blue eyes he loves so much. “What? Why?”

Robin smiles a bittersweet smile, and squeezes his hand. “For everything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Robin breathes, and he’s not sure if he knows himself. He thinks about what he’s truly apologizing for, and all the reasons come out at once, like an avalanche of regrets that he’s kept inside for years, but no longer has the strength to. “You’re in pain, too. I can see it. I do not regret my choice; I can tell you that. But… I regret the pain it’s causing. I regret the pain I’m causing you.”

Robin realizes he’s forgotten to breath, and he sucks in a shaky breath, and dispels it. “I’m sorry for disappearing.”

“You’re not,” Chrom says, his voice suddenly forceful. “You… you aren’t going to disappear.”

“Chrom, I thought I told you—”

“I know,” Chrom sighs, finally lifting his head entirely. “I know. You’re dying — that much, I know. But, Robin… you aren’t going to disappear. You aren’t going to just — to just _fade_. There is no such thing as nothingness — there is something beyond this life, and that’s where you will go. You will always exist somewhere, and…”

Chrom’s voice trails off for a moment, before he squeezes Robin’s hand, looks him directly in the eyes, and says;

“Wherever you exist, I will find you there.”

Robin can feel all his emotions tumbling forth all at once — hot tears slip down his cheeks, and he’s not sure whether they’re from the relief of what Chrom’s saying, or the pain of the fact that he’s never going to see him again. Robin realizes, all at once, just how much he loves this man, and just how painful it’s going to be to let him go. He forces himself to untangle his fingers from Chrom’s, so he can reach his hand up and put his hand on his cheek, so he can touch him, feel him, _love_ him for what is probably the _last time_ —

But when he lifts his hand up, he realizes that he can see through it.

“Chrom,” He breathes, panic overriding any emotion that had previously controlled him. He can see the panic on Chrom’s face, too — though it lessens just a little once he grabs Robin’s hand, and realizes that he can still touch him. Robin can hardly feel it, though — and he knows with certainty that his time is fading.

His time is fading, much like him.

“Chrom, I’m dying,” Robin says, as if it’s the first time he’s realizing this. And it is, in a way — he had accepted the fact long ago, but this is the first time that he’s realizing firsthand, that he’s truly dying. He’s going to fade, he’s going to _die,_ and he’s never going to come back. The thought of it is terrifying in itself. “Chrom, I — I’m scared. I’m so scared, Chrom, I—”

Chrom stops him from saying anything else by means of his lips — and Robin shuts his eyes against his tears, entangles his hands in soft blue hair, and lets himself go. He kisses Chrom with all the love he’s ever felt for him, and even though he doesn’t speak, all the proclamations of love that he never got to say are spoken for him. He kisses Chrom like it’s the first time he’s ever done so, but also the last time he’ll ever get to.

He knows the second part is the reality, and wishes with every fiber of his being, with every unwinding coil of his soul that it wasn’t.

“Robin, listen to me,” Chrom breathes against his lips once he finally pulls away, backing away just a little bit, to give Robin his room to breathe. “Truth be told, I don’t know where you’re going to end up. I know it’s somewhere, but where… I don’t know. But I told you I would find you, and now I _promise_ you. I don’t care how long it takes, whether if it’s in this life or the next, _whatever_ — but I will find you. I will always find you, Robin.”

Chrom’s words are comforting, and Robin can feel his nerves start to fade — but judging by the look on Chrom’s face, he thinks he might be fading along with them.

“Thank you,” Robin breathes, surprised at how quiet his voice has gotten. “Thank you, for everything. And, if you don’t find me in this life… then may we meet again, in a better one.”

Robin can just barely recognize the tears on Chrom’s face, but the smile he gives him along with them is enough to make him forget about them. Knowing that his time is limited, and that he is not the only one that should be with him, Chrom stands, and calls for someone — and Robin can’t hear his voice, but he thinks he knows who it is.

Morgan is in the room in a flash, and her arms are around Robin even faster — and Robin might be fading, but his heart is overflowing. He wishes he could stay in this moment for the rest of his life — with his daughter in his arms, and his husband at his side, but he knows his time is up.

“I love you,” He whispers, and whether it is to Morgan or Chrom, he does not know, but the sentiment is there all the same.

Morgan’s arms around him and Chrom’s lips on his own are the last things he feels before he can feel nothing, and he lets the darkness take him.


	2. it's better to leave than be replaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re Grima, then,” says Robin. “You’re me, but — you’re from Lucina’s timeline. You’re the Robin who let Grima take over you.”
> 
> In death, Robin finds himself, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, one (1) year ago: it's almost summer! i'm going to be able to post the next chapter of this soon! heck yeah!  
> me, a year later: about that
> 
> seriously, oh my god, y'all, i can't believe this took me so long. i mean, i can, but... it's sad. i really don't have good time management skills, but that's clear, isn't it?  
> but here it is; after a year, the second and final chapter to this hellscape! it was never going to end sadly, but we all knew that. this isn't the way i expected it to end, and i'm still not one hundred percent happy with it, but i don't mind it. honestly, i'm just glad it's done.  
> this is a pretty confusing chapter, but i hope that y'all enjoy it anyways!

A tactician’s morning routine is not one that undergoes much change. Years have passed, and the pattern he follows in the morning has not changed one bit. Robin wakes, he stretches out his stiff limbs (often hitting some part of Chrom in the process, which he’s never really felt too bad about), he takes a few moments to let the drowsiness blink out of his eyes and his mind, and he begins his day.

This morning begins as all others in the not-so-vast span of Robin’s memory have; Robin wakes, he stretches out his stiff limbs, expecting to feel the familiar obstacle of Chrom beside him…

And for the first time in years, his routine changes; for when Robin stretches out his limbs, he feels absolutely nothing.

Robin opens and closes his eyes multiple times before he realizes that what he sees is the same as what he feels; which is to say, nothing at all. He’s surrounded by a sea of inky blackness that spreads for miles or mere inches; he’s not sure which one it is, and he’s even less sure of if he wants to find out or not. The nature of this dark void is unknown to him, for any conclusion he tries to draw from it is immediately countered. He thinks the weight of the void to be crushing, but immediately wonders if he might be weightless; he wonders that maybe he’s in some sort of black ocean, but instantly thinks that there’s no matter at all that surrounds him. He can’t tell where he is, or what it is, and it’s all so awfully perplexing and confusing and he really wishes that he could remember something, _anything_ to help him gain his bearings —

And all at once, it comes back.

The heart-stopping roar of a dragon — nay, a _god_ — ringing in his ears; the telltale sign of the return of Grima himself. The clashing of metal, the feeling of a spell resting just beneath his fingertips, waiting to be set free; the sounds of combat, a battle to end this game, this war against the gods. The feeling of Chrom’s arms around him, holding him so tightly that he thought his ribs to be broken; the joy that their tactician had not faded with the fell dragon flooding through the entirety of Ylisse’s army.

And of course, the lack of feeling that came not a fortnight afterwards; the numbness and paralysis that proved that Naga had been right all along, and that Robin was fading along with Grima.

And now. Now he’s here.

This place must be death, then; it’s the only conclusion Robin can come to. He concludes not long after that death is considerably less gruesome than expected; much more peaceful than perhaps the fires of whatever might exist — Grima, probably, gods be damned — in Hell. Though he must admit that he’s not entirely sure. Naga had said he would cease to exist; death may be the most reasonable option, but it doesn’t entirely match up. After all, there are countless others that have died before him; why would he be alone, in death? Was this perhaps some sort of eternal solitude, instead? A punishment for slaying himself along with —

_Grima._

A sense of pure, unbridled panic courses through Robin’s veins. For if he’s here, then shouldn’t his other half, the other piece of his intertwined soul — Grima, gods damn the dastard — shouldn’t he be here as well?

Part of him doesn’t even want to find out. Part of him wants to keep looking forward into the sea of inky blackness and pretend that maybe he is alone.

But another part of him, a bigger part of him, it knows better; and it knows that he’s not alone, in this place. When he turns around, Grima will be there, all massive wings and scaly torso and gleaming crimson eyes…

But he’s already dead, so with the knowledge that he has nothing left to lose, Robin turns around —

— And he sees himself.

His first reaction is confusion, of course, but he has no time to think on it — for the moment he tries to, his other self looks up, and suddenly, he’s come face to face with himself.

“Well, this is,” Robin says, for lack of a better conversation starter. “awkward.”

Surprisingly, the other Robin chuckles softly, though it’s almost sad, in a way.

“You could say that again,” his other self says, and Robin is shocked by the difference between them already. Robin has always spoken clearly and with confidence, even if it wasn’t genuine — but this man, he speaks softly, with a gentle tone that almost sounds defeated.

“So, you,” Robin says, trying to wrap his head around the situation. “You’re me, then? You’re Robin?”

His other self looks puzzled at that. His eyebrows furrow and his lips tug into a small frown, as if the question of his name is a riddle he just can’t figure out.

“No,” he says. “no, I don’t… I don’t think I have the right to call myself that. Not anymore.”

Robin’s confusion multiplies for just a second, before it vanishes almost immediately; replaced with a bittersweet sense of realization.

“You’re Grima, then,” says Robin. “You’re me, but — you’re from Lucina’s timeline. You’re the Robin who let Grima take over you.”

The other Robin — _Grima,_ in truth — has a moment of realization as well, and he purses his lips and steels his face to keep his expression from falling.

“Yes,” says Grima. “I suppose you could say that.”

Bitterness bubbles up in Robin’s veins and his hands clench at his sides, for the knowledge that _this_ is the man that caused his children and his friends so much pain makes him angrier than he’d ever like to admit. But he’s long since learned how to smother his anger, so he takes a sharp intake of breath and relaxes his fingers to calm himself down.

“But I still don’t understand,” Robin says after a few brief moments of silence. “you… I met you before — back when you were working for Validar. I _fought_ you. Why are you acting so different now?”

Grima frowns softly, as if he himself isn’t too sure of the answer to Robin’s question. Robin thinks that maybe he doesn’t know the answer entirely, as it takes a few moments of pondering for him to respond.

“I… can’t say,” says Grima, still lost in thought and confusion. “perhaps when you… when you killed me, you — you just killed the fell dragon. And it left only me — Robin. Or… someone that used to be Robin, anyways.”

Grima looks dejected suddenly, and if Robin hadn’t spent the last couple years of his life being tormented by the damn dragon, he thinks he might have pitied him.

“I guess that makes sense,” Robin admits. “but I still can’t say that I understand.”

Grima blinks at him, puzzled.

“Why… why would you _do_ that? Why would you ever think that giving yourself up to that — that _thing_ — would be a good idea?”

Violently does Grima flinch, as if Robin’s words are a Thoron bolt to his heart. Robin thinks they might as well be, and he doesn’t feel a sliver of sympathy for him. Not yet, anyways.

“You have to understand,” says Grima, in a voice that is as choked as it is desperate. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I didn’t _want_ to hurt anyone.”

Grima bites his lip and hesitates briefly before shaking his head.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know anything about the fell dragon. I didn’t know what it meant, to take him on, to become him. I didn’t realize the destruction it would entail, the pain it would cause…

“I’ve done nothing to gain your trust, but you have to believe me. I may not be you anymore, I may not be Robin — but I _was,_ I swear it, I was. I didn’t — I didn’t want to hurt any of them! Lucina was my _daughter,_ Chrom my _husband_ — I didn’t want them to _die!”_

Grima’s outburst renders Robin speechless; all the sympathy he never felt for him pouring in all at once. He still hates the man, gods damn him, but… he understands him, in a way, and the thought of it makes his throat close with emotions that he doesn’t want to feel. Not for Grima, of all people.

Robin is brought out of his thoughts by Grima sighing and shaking his head, even though Robin hasn’t said anything to him at all.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t want to give it to you.” The words leave Robin’s lips before he can even think about them, but in truth, he doesn’t regret them.

“Good. I don’t deserve it.”

A few moments pass — or perhaps yet another eternity, for Robin still can’t tell the difference — that are filled with silence, before Grima breaks it.

“I know that you don’t understand the decisions I’ve made,” says Grima. “but I could say the same thing.

“Why… why would you kill me, if you knew what it would entail?”

“Excuse me?”

Grima purses his lips, trying to find the right words. “You… you knew that if you killed me, then you would disappear along with me. I lived your past, so I know what you went through; you fought as hard as you could and harder to stay by Chrom’s side. You put everything you had on the line; your life, your position, your sanity… why would you give that up?”

Grima sounds incredulous, and it takes Robin a moment to realize that he truly doesn’t know the answer to his question.

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?” asks Robin. “I sacrificed a lot during the wars I fought by Chrom’s side, yes. But if I _didn’t_ kill you, if I just put you to sleep — then yes, I would have kept all that I had fought for; my place by Chrom’s side, my life, and my family.”

Grima shakes his head. “Then _why_ —”

“Because if I _didn’t,_ then someday, a decade or a century from now, somebody else would have to do the same thing. They would put everything they had on the line to fight against Grima; countless people would die, families and countries and history itself would be torn apart. Maybe it wouldn’t happen to my children, or even their children, but it would happen eventually.”

Robin sighs, a sigh that holds all the exhaustion that has been pent up during the past few years of the war that is his life, and shakes his head.

“I killed you because I realized what I was fighting for. I wasn’t fighting for myself, I was fighting for everyone that I had ever known and loved, and everyone that they would ever know and love. My death may cause my family grief, and I will _never_ forgive myself for causing them that, but I do not regret my decision.”

Grima is silent for quite a while, and Robin can’t exactly blame him. He’s just poured out half his life story to him, after all.

“I see,” says Grima, eventually.

“You understand, then?”

“No.”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Then what do you see?”

“The difference between us.”

Robin tilts his head, and for the first time, Grima does something that Robin had never thought he would ever see the damned fell dragon do.

Grima smiles.

“You’re selfless, Robin. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, despite the grief it would cause. Me, I’ll never understand that, not really; if given the choice, I would never do the same thing.”

Robin closes his eyes, and sees a familiar sight; the clear sky of Ylisse, a girl with a bright smile and a man with blue hair and kind eyes all hovering above him.

“To be quite honest, I can’t exactly blame you.” Robin says, his voice more choked than he would like it to be.

“Do you miss them?”

 

‘ _Chrom, we have to do something.’_

 

“Of course I do. It’s cliché, but sometimes I really do think I can still hear their voices.”

 

‘ _Well, what do you propose we do?’_

“Er… Grima? Do you hear that?”

Robin opens his eyes, and is met with nothing. Grima is gone, and there’s only nothingness. For a moment, he thinks he might panic, before he hears two familiar voices.

“Goodbye, Robin.” says Grima.

* * *

“I… I don’t know!” says Lissa.

Robin opens his eyes, though he doesn’t remember closing them, and sees a familiar sight; the clear sky of Ylisse, a girl with a bright smile and a man with blue hair and kind eyes all hovering above him.

“I see you’re awake now,” says the blue haired man.

“Hey there,” the girl’s voice is as bright as her smile.

“There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know.”

A gloved hand reaches out, just as familiar and welcoming as it was the first time he was offered it so many years ago.

“Give me your hand.”

Robin’s hand is shaky, but it reaches up and grasps the other man’s hand anyways. He’s able to vaguely realize that his skin is no longer marred by the six-eyed mark of Grima before Robin is pulled up with ease, and he finds himself staring into the eyes of the man he loved so much, that he almost let him go.

“Welcome back,” says Chrom.

“It’s over now.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://grimatina.tumblr.com/post/132170205705/ok-but-what-if-connection-between-grima-and-robin  
> i have plans for a second chapter but we all know that i take years to update........ but summer is coming soon so maybe u'll get my next chapter who knows


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